


And The Walls Kept Tumbling Down

by spacemonkey



Category: U2
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 14:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3981307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Berlin, 1990. The band is close to breaking point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And The Walls Kept Tumbling Down

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Bastille's Pompeii, and turned out a lot angstier then I had planned. At the very least, the band had a happy ending.

 

The door slammed shut and then there was silence. Sudden, uncomfortable silence that left Edge gripping his guitar until he was sure it would break.  He stared at the ground, at the wall, and then finally when it seemed like no one was going to speak, he looked up.

Bono’s jaw was set, but Edge could see the tremble in his hands, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and Edge wanted to put down his guitar and follow Adam, if only to miss what was coming. But he stayed where he was, and waited, and Bono surprised him by gently placing the bass on the ground and walking out of the room. The door gently clicked shut behind him and Edge met Larry’s glance for the first time since Adam had stood up. His face was grim, his eyes dark. “Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Edge?”

Edge didn’t have a response.  He wasn’t even sure what Larry was asking for.

 

***

Bono had a knack for drawing, and he could sketch pages and pages in one sitting of anything that caught his eye.  Often he would be almost frantic, his lines quick and light and paper left strewn around him for others to pick up and try to make sense of it all. Rarely would he truly sit and work on a single piece for hours, his hand steady and his lines cut deep, but when it did happen it could be months before he drew again. Those were the drawings he kept close to his chest.

Edge had a sketchbook that he hid from others like a teenager hid their Playboy from their parents.  He knew he wasn’t very good, but he found it relaxing. Mostly he would draw guitars or trees, but sometimes he’d pull out an old photo of his parents or wife and sketch from reference until he was satisfied he’d created a resemblance.  

He’d drawn Bono once, alone in a hotel room with a bottle of wine and just his mind for reference, and he’d hated himself for how easily it came to him.  But he knew Bono, every expression, every tick; how predictable he could be when it came to being unpredictable.  When the knock on the door came, Edge was waiting.

Bono was shockingly sober, but eyes were red and averted and when he curled up on the couch, he looked as small as Edge had ever seen him.  He didn't know this Bono. The silence stretched on and Edge hunted for something to say before settling on, “Have you eaten?”

“No.”

Edge ordered room service and turned on the television. The news was on and everyone was speaking German, but when he handed the remote to Bono, the channel remained unchanged. He ate while Bono stared at the television, rapt with the footage of scenes they’d seen so recently in person.

“Can you imagine, Edge?” Bono said finally. “How they must have felt when the wall came down? When their country became one again?”

“We saw their reactions.”

“But how they _felt_.” Bono looked at him then, for the first time since he’d entered the room and Edge’s chest tightened. The tear tracked down his cheek slowly, but Bono managed a smile, strained as it was. “We don’t belong here, Edge.”

Edge knew exactly what he wasn’t saying, and there was defeat in his tone. “I don’t really belong home at the moment either,” he said slowly and Bono looked away. “Bono, I think we’re getting close to something, I really do.”

 It was a lie, and they both knew it, but Bono nodded anyway. He turned off the television and rubbed at his face and gave Edge a look that he often replayed in his mind late at night when he was alone in a cold bed. But when they got under the covers Bono kissed him once before pressing up against Edge and closing his eyes. Dark hair tickled under his chin and Edge couldn’t help himself; he pulled Bono tighter to his chest until he could barely breathe.

 


End file.
